


autumn leaves

by Babydoll Ria (Babydoll_Ria)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:40:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babydoll_Ria/pseuds/Babydoll%20Ria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you're far away when yesterday you were right here with me</p>
            </blockquote>





	autumn leaves

**Author's Note:**

> I felt bad because I can't update universial so here have this?

The thing is, she knows he’s dead. She saw the corpse, identified the remains, held a closed casket funeral all while trying to hold herself together. Twenty-three and a widow, that’s not exactly how the story is supposed to go.

But hey, stories move on and she’s never been in denial, skipping that step like she skips sleep, consisting on five hour energy drinks, coffee (black unlike his diabetes induced sweetener monster he drank every morning) because if she sleeps she can dream, and if she dreams he’ll be there and she will have to wake up and deal with the fact that the warmth in the bed is never going to come back.

She goes to therapy because she’s not going to be Mrs. Everdeen although Mrs. Everdeen has been a sweetheart, helping her transition from wife to widow from a wedding six weeks ago. There’s no Christmas parties to be planned, or no twenty-fifth birthday three days into December that will happen because the man stopped aging when his heart stopped beating.

And car accidents happen.

They do; it’s not unique, it’s not special and he wasn’t anybody really. He just did social media marketing, and she just did paralegal things. They weren’t different or extraordinary; it’s not a tragic love story like Peeta or Katniss who are unstable but solid. They were just a bassline, predictable and steady barely heard over the noise over more interesting people.

That was fine.

She’s not, like Jo thinks, an unstable mess, screaming and crying on the pier wanting him to come back, raying to some ocean god or whatever to do that.

She’s not unable to get out of bed, feed herself or go to work like Katniss seems to think with the text messages she gets always making sure she’s eaten or showered or something.

She understands they want to make her feel safe, like she’s not alone but they don’t want to stay hovering like a switch held in the middle with the light flickering on and off to a man dead now.

She’s not.

But no one listens to her, except maybe Enobaria who comes over now and then and they just sit and watch infomercials with whiskey in their coffee wondering if they should buy a new vacuum.

She’s not reliving memories of him, because it’s too easy to fall back into those happy times; he’s a drug, he’s always been a drug and she’d always been an addict but she has to wean herself off, cold turkey a rehabilitation made in a widow’s sheath and she’s doing.

Slowly but surely she’s doing it.

But you know it’s just a stupid mug, one from a church basement garage sale when they were lost in Kentucky after several wrongs terms because she can’t read a map and he can’t tell his left from his right and they were sleep deprived and they were hungry and they were angry and she was screaming about cocktails at a wedding they never wanted to be at and they just needed out of the car and away from each other.

The only thing there was that church basement garage sale and so she went to look at the old vintage purses and furs, wondering what she could buy for three dollars and a pack of spearmint, while he did whatever he was doing.

She was haggling the price of an nineteen fifties Louie when she could hear his deep belly laugh, obnoxious and infectious, he could get an entire room to laugh when he laughed honestly and she was mad but she still turned her head to see what got that boy of hers so wound up.

He was running to her with a yellow mug with a fish on a hook on one side, and an immature joke thirteen year olds would love on the other.

It’s just a stupid mug, a stupid, stupid mug and she just moved it from the spot on the kitchen counter because she has to clean the counter; there’s dried coffee stains from coffee long gone and the aftermath of sweetener clinging to the edge of this stupid mug.

She just moves it to the microwave, but she’s not looking properly and misjudges the distance and it falls and it breaks.

There is a hundred little shards of ceramic of his stupid mug on the floor, and she knows he’s dead. She know Finnick is dead, and the Odairs is just singular and she is just Annie but the mug is broken and she can’t find every last shard to glue back together and she just realizes he’s never coming back.


End file.
